The Mother's Web
by Bard's Soul
Summary: Will and Lyra's love has awakened the most ancient of spirits. Now Mother Earth weaves a web of love and friendship, secrets and sacrafices, all to give each an immeasurable gift.
1. The Mother Awakens

WARNING: MAY BE RATED R!!! This story deals with life and the birth of new life. Sex is unavoidable. But it is never done in an inappropriate style, more concentrating on emotions and nature.

Disclaimer: I do not own Will, Lyra, the plot of HDM, etc. Nor do I own terms from Jan Siegel's works (read bio), though they seem to come more from ancient languages and myths than from her own mind.

Attention: As of 10/23/03, the fist three chapters have been revised. I went through, fixing grammatical mistakes, as well as the time table a little bit. Don't worry, nothing big, but this series focuses on the Lunar and Solar calandars, and I had to be sure I got things right for it all to work.

THE MOTHER'S AWAKENING

There are some things which cannot be wholly expressed in words. Love is one of them.

These two children, clinging together in the grove of silver and golden trees, found that words failed them now. Even their kissing, breathing in each other's scents, couldn't express what they felt.

And so they bonded in a way which has always been known, but forever shunned. But in that joining, these two felt no shame for their love. They could not speak, they could only bask in each other's embrace. And in those last moments of ecstasy, both knew that no joy could ever match the love that they had found.

When they could last no more, and gave that last burst of passion, they found their voices again, crying out the other's name into the sky.

"Lyra!!!"

"Will!!!"

It was that cry of joy and love which awoke the worlds again. At that moment, they let out the breath they held in anticipation, knowing that life had begun again. The Beltane Rite was complete, and all life rejoiced.

But that cry also awoke another.

Across the worlds, those dual voices carried on, merging together. At last the sound arrived at it's destination. In a world spanning the whole of the universe, a great oak grew. It's branches reached beyond those of the wheel trees, in the world were the cry began, and spread out in a canopy so dense that whole cities could reside in the foliage. Under those branches a system of roots grew, spreading beyond even the branches above. They intertwined with on another, forming a complex maze of wood, bark and Earth.

A river flowed in between them, circling the trunk until it came to rest between two of the largest roots. There, it formed a lake, blanketed by a swirling mist. On the shore, where the roots met, a great cave lay open, leading into the tree itself.

This was the great Duirgaia, the Earth Oak, the home of the most ancient of spirits. Into that cave, the sound traveled, rushing down to the borrow within. But now it carried a different cry--

"Mother!" echoed through the darkness of the den.

Two orbs of light appear, illuminating the area around them. They appeared to be eyes, human eyes, but they glowed with a light more akin to the moon. It was a pale, bright light, shinning out like twin full moons in a clear sky. In their light, the forms of a face could be seen. The bridge of a nose, long and smooth. The eyebrows, black against the light, shadowed the forehead, while below, the elegant curves of cheeks were jutting into view. Strands of long hair formed black streaks down the image, hiding the rest of the face from view.

With the light came a sound, suddenly breaking the silence which had lain over this hall for centuries untold. A sudden intake of air, like a breath. For a breath it was, a gasp in the night, like when someone has been underwater, and suddenly breaks the surface.

The breathing continued, at first fast and short, out of air, but slowly began to calm again. With each intake, the face would rise, and with each release, fall again.

Then a voice whispered into the black emptiness--

"I live..."

It was feminine, at once beautiful and terrible. At once worn with age, wisdom and care, yet light, young and filled with joy. In that voice, one could hear a thousand sounds--the crack of thunder and whisper of a breeze--the lapping waves upon the shore and the groan of the earth--the chirp of birds and howl of the wolf--all confined in that wondrous voice.

"...But how?"

She was surprised and worried. The wavering in her voice conveyed that without question. But it didn't seem right. Hearing that voice, was like being home; where everything was safe and right. But hearing that voice quaver so, it was like being thrust out into the winter's despair, without warmth or guidance. Lost; to hear that voice now was akin to being lost without hope.

A rustle came with those words, a movement. It came from her gown, what ever it was. It sounded like the silence of silk, the crack of bark, the crackle of leaves and the soft whispers of fur and feather, all eminating from that one sound. The woman had risen.

She moved quickly, the light from her eyes illuminating the path. But by the surety of her steps, it was obvious she could have walked blindly and still move with impossible grace. Her feet padded softly on the bare earth. There was no click of shoes, no flap of sandals or stamp of boots. Only the soft fast, padding of bare feet accompanied by the rustling of her gown.

As she walked, she murmured under here breath. Her thoughts were so jumbled, so confused, that she could not keep them silent, she had to say them aloud.

"The bonds of man are weakening..." her brow was bent in concentration.

"...The Authority's power has waned. Beltane..." her eyes widened with understanding.

"Yes, it is Beltane. This eve the Rite was renewed... But by whom?"

Her brow bent again with confusion.

"Who cried out my name?"

By now the light had grown. No longer was the pale light just from her eyes, but all around. As she stepped out into the open air, the full moon cast it's light upon her, as if in a warm greeting. Like a flower in the sun's rays, the woman seemed to grow in the silver light.

In it's glow, the woman's features could easily be seen. But even as one features could be distinguished, did it shift into a new form. She seemed to flow, as if she were fluid, or trying to express something of everything, being a part of all that was around her.

Her long hair, cascading down her elegantly arched back, seemed raven black in the moon's light, yet under the surface, shades of deep sea green, shadows of the forest floor, and pure white of the swan all could be seen swimming in those locks of hair.

Her skin, snow white in the night's illuminated air, held all the tints of the earth. There was the tan of the tropics, rich black and brown of the loamish soil, and golden beauty of fields of wheat.

Even her gown flowed and changed before the eye. It was some kind of dress, or more likely a robe, draped over her right shoulder, left free to flow down to her feet. A belt of leather and green leafed vines held it about her waist. But the material itself was a myriad of nature. At once as light as spider's silk and as heavy as a beast's mane. About her head the woman wore a wreath crown, comprised of flowers budding in the early Spring's warmth.

The woman walked barefoot on the mossy ground, her feet taking her away from the cave, and toward a mound of stone by the shore. Piled upon the mound was used firewood, it's logs black, crisp and charred by past fires. But it was ready for more, only needing a spark to light it again.

"Just as it was all those years ago," she murmured, stopping in front of the pyre.

"Awaken!" Her voice roared, now filled with power and command. The boy, who's cry of love had awoken her, had such a commanding presence that even such creatures as angels and bears yielded to him. But this woman's voice held more power, still. The very Earth would cower and obey at her command.

"Awaken, Fires of Time! Hear your Mother's Call! I, Ysis-Astolante, summon you once more!"

The fire was no exception. Flame erupted where only ashes once remained; in the coals, embers flared into life anew.

"Show me what Man has done while I lay imprisoned. Show my what He has ravaged upon the worlds, and what events have led to my awakening."

In the dancing flames and swirling smoke, shapes appeared and the shifting embers brought life to the images before them. In their firey display the woman, this Mother of lovers and flame, saw many things from the past, present, and future. She saw the fall and hunting of her faithful Druids, Shamans and Witches. The rising powers of the Church and Authority played out before her, as she observed man fall into gluttony. Years flashed by before her, as Man abandoned Wisdom, Spirit and Nature, in exchange for their own petty desires and conveniences. She saw empires rise and fall, horrors committed and hatred consumed. But all this she passed with but a glance. They were her children, and a mother always forgave.

Until she saw the Knife. That blade had cut into her as nothing before. It burned into her very soul. All that she was--everything--all the worlds' Essence--screamed as it felt the blade of the AEsathaettr. Yes, it was the God Destroyer, but also Dust Destroyer, Earth Destroyer, Life Destroyer. All those titles were in that term, that anathema curse. For that, Man could not be forgiven.

But as the images passed, so did her anger. She would deal with the Knife later, first she must discover what had awoken her, and ensure it was no temporary thing. It was then that the Mother saw the beginnings of it. In a world were the remains of her power struggled with the iron dominion of the Church, a girl was born. A girl whose return the Mother herself had prophesied and set into motion.

"Eve..." she whispered, her eyes wide with love and understanding.

"Eve, my Daughter, you have finally returned."

And so it was that she witnessed all that had transpired. The wrenching open of the worlds, the finding of the knife, the freeing of the Dead, the Great Battle, and finally the discovery of this great love all passed before her eyes.

It was then that she knew--the love of these two, of Adam and Eve reincarnate, as they joined in the Beltane Rite, had awoken her. Their cries of ecstasy carried on the winds had broken her bonds.

Finally, the Mother looked up from the pyre, and stepped back down onto the shore.

"They have begun the Cycle of Life again," the Mother mused, "yet their tasks are far from over. These two shall guide Man back to me, away from the upstart Authority and usurper Azmordis, each in their own world. But their line must be ensured, for this duty shall span over generations."

A smile came to her lips as she head toward the edge of the Lake.

"It is good that two were conceived this night, but I must plan well for their birth, so both lovers may have a successor."

As she stepped onto the shore, she called in a high, haunting voice out onto the water, summoning the Spirit that would take her to the Gate, back into the worlds of Time. Away from the the Eternal Tree, away from Timeless Avalon.

All was silent in the mists, except for the gentle lapping of waves upon the shore. But her patience was rewarded, after what might have been an eternity, another sound comes from the concealed waters. A low splash, steady and paced, drawing ever closer.

A figure emerged from the mists, blurred and indistinct at first, but becoming cleared as it made towards the shore. An ancient boat, dark with rotten wood and moss, incredibly worn, but forever steady. A figure sat in the stern, manning the oars. A skeletal figure it was, whose worn face was hidden behind a deep black cowl, a cowl of the same cloth which draped about his entire body. The hands were permanently crooked around the handels of the oars, the skin drawn tight around the bone. Ancient and frail, this figure was as undeniable as Death itself.

With one final stroke, the rower beached the craft upon the shore. The figure stood, using an oar to balance, and offered a hand to the woman waiting on the stones. It was obvious that she could have stepped aboard herself, but this gesture was one of respect; the rower knew who she was.

"It has been many long years since the Queen of Life and Death called upon me," The figure rasped, his voice betraying the tiniest notes of wit and sarcasm, "Perhaps she has forgotten her children?"

"Be nice," Mother Earth said with a smile. Apparently she picked up the snide tone of voice. But her voice became serious and the smile faded as she continued.

"Indeed, it has been far too long, my Guide of Souls," she sat in the bow, as she asked, "How have you faired, Raven Lord, under the Authority's rein?"

"Not well, Mother," The rower replied, a deep sigh in his voice, emotionless for ages past. "Were I once flew across the worlds, leading my fellow Ravens, guiding those who died home for rest, I now am confined to ferry across the Styx. The Authority has broken all of us Old Spirits, my kin now are Deaths, silent and moody, rather than joyous Ravens promising new life. I myself have become what you see before you, a ragged old man, frail yet immovable in Death's certainty."

"What of the Summer Country? Surely the dreams of the Dead have kept it green?" The Mother knew about the World of the Dead and it's fate, but wanted this man, the Raven Lord, to remember the old ways, to bring life to him once more. She wanted to give him hope. Yet, she let him find that on his own, through his own memories.

"Nay, my Lady," the ragged man shook his head as he answered, "the harpies, who have never known kindness or the sun's warmth, have been freed, and have tortured all the Dead into depression. The Well of Lethe has long since dried, and offers no respite to the poor souls."

The rower paused, remembering a little girl who, not so long ago, sat in his boat, passing into Death while she still lived. The beat of his oars remained steady while he thought. The Mother smiled, this is what she wanted him to remember, wanted him to see.

"Until _she_ came," The Raven Lord continued, a new light in his shrunken eyes, "The girl, she stepped into my boat, betraying her very self, and her companions did as well. Two Gallivespians, mounted on their insect steeds, and a boy, The AEsathaettr. I recognized him well enough, but in my ageless lethargy, I failed to realize who she was."

"She is Eve, isn't she?" he asks, full realization shining in his widening eyes, "she is you're daughter, the Mother of Man."

"Indeed she is," The Mother replied, satisfied that the spark of life was rekindled in The Guide of Souls. "Her cries, joining with those of her lover, penetrated the mists of the Lake, awakening me from slumber."

The man continued to row steadily, hopeful in the returning love of this most ancient of spirits. For minutes, or perhaps hours they remained silent, letting the soft heavy sounds of the water fill the emptiness.

"To the Shore of the Summer Country, my Lady?" The Raven Lord asked, breaking the eternal silence.

"No, my Raven."

"But the Well..." The Raven's voice cracked with surprise. It had been so long, countless centuries and more, since any emotion was projected in that voice, that the sound failed him even as he began to cry out in shock.

"Worry not for the Merciful Waters," Gaia said to him in a soothing voice, "They will flow again with the passage of the Samhain Harvest. After the Dead have accepted their state, they will enter the renewed Cycle, and begin their lives anew by drink from Lethe."

It was her surety, her unflinching confidence which revived the energy in the Raven more then anything. To see such life again, displayed in the very Avatar of Life, he felt he could soar above the highest peaks. He felt happy and full once more, and proud to be the Raven Lord, Guide of Souls. He could have crowed his call into the night, shattering the heavy fog around the water. But he knew that the mists were there for a reason, so he held his joy inside, letting instead his posture and demeanor express what he felt. His back straightened, the loud cracks lessening, like a hinge newly oiled. His eyes lightened, displaying the mischief and fun they held in ages past.

"No, Raven," his Mother continued, "take me to the Shore of Crossing. It is time I went into the worlds again. I have duties I must attend to."

And so it was, that for the first time since the Authority's rein, the boat landed on the shore of the Suburbs of the Dead, carrying a living being on it's rotten planks.

The ghosts who were waiting to cross stared open mouthed at this paragon of beauty, her shifting features and immeasurable wisdom. They stepped aside, giving room for her to pass. They knew not who she was, but felt the power around her, and knew that she was more than any of them ever was, or would be.

As they stepped into the boat, they were greeted not by an ancient, lethargic rower, but the proud, witty and passionate Lord of Ravens, Guide to the Dead.

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So, what did you think? Please Review. But when you do, please tell me what you like and don't like, so I can improve. Was it too long? Did it flow and make sense? Did it have great detail? Did it capture your imagination? Please, tell me!


	2. Drawings and Dreams

Disclaimer: I don't' own Will, Lyra, HDM plot, or anything else by Philip Pullman. Blah, blah, blah.

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Just Telling You Guys–

Chapters 2 through 5 all happen in the same 24 hours–on Midsummer's Day. I originally meant to have it all in one chapter, but it was too much... so here we go...

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DRAWINGS AND DREAMS

The house was silent and dark. All were asleep. Except for one. 

The boy sat at his desk, leaning over a book, pencil in hand. The desk light highlighted his short dark hair, while his face remained in shadow. His appearance was that of a child, perhaps no more than 13 years old. But his demeanor, so intent and sullen, gave the impression of a full-grown man.

Lifting up his head from the paper, he reviewed his work with a critical eye. His brow became knitted in frustration as he gazed at the image before him. His eyes were red with exhaustion, but underneath lay the emptiness of a deep depression and intense despair. A despair underlined even further with an incredible ferocity, all of which was directed at the paper before him.

"No!" the boy growled, his voice surprisingly deep for one so young. "It isn't right! Her lips aren't that wide!"

As he criticized his own work, the boy ripped the page from the book, tearing it to pieces in his rage. Tossing the shreds into the trash beside him, the boy leans against the back of his chair. He rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying--with out success--to dissipate the exhaustion with the action. As he does so, his left hand comes into view of the light, and one can see the scars where his two smallest fingers used to be.

"Why Kirjava?" the boy moans, his eyes now burning with tears, "Why can't I get it right? Why does it never work?"

Behind him, lying on the bed like a sphinx, a cat the size of a panther looks up at him. Her fur held a thousand tones--seeming to shift between blacks, purples, blues, grays and greens. When the boy spoke, she stood, stretching her self and let out a large yawn.

"Will," she replied, "You've never drawn before. No matter how keen your memories of Lyra are, it will take time, maybe even years, to capture her face properly on paper."

"It's just so hard," Will said, his voice broken by sobs, "Going on without her... Drawing her face helps me remember, brings me back to those weeks, months we had together."

But Kirjava knew there was more to it than that.

"You want to see her again," she said, her eyes drilling into Will's heart, "and a sketch or painting is the closest you'll ever get to that, isn't it?"

Will could only nod in reply. He couldn't hide anything from her.

"Come to bed Will," Kijava said, her voice sad and filled with worry, "It's one in the morning, and you won't get any further on your drawings tonight. Besides, it's Midsummer's Day. You need your sleep to see Lyra again."

"That's the problem, Kirjava," Will sighed as he stood up and turned off the light. "I won't be seeing her at all, ever."

That final word toned out with dull despair and finality; like a huge iron bell, rung out across a cemetery at midnight, giving no release. Will, his back bent with despair and depression, shuffled over to the bed, lying down next to his beloved daemon.

Both lay silent, lost in thought on their own object of desire. Until Will broke that silence.

"It's only been three months, Kirjava" he whispered, "How am I going to do on for a whole lifetime with out her?"

Kirjava said nothing. How could they go on? She didn't know.

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A gentle glow illuminated the room, cast into the darkness from a naphtha lamp covered by a silk screen. Wholes cut into screen projected images of witches, bears and angels on the walls and shelves about the room, swirling around from the motor attached to the shade.

A white crib lies in the center of the room, filled with warm soft blankets in pastel hues. A window displays the white snow blanketing everything outside, highlighted against the black sky above.

The door to the room opens, the warm glow of stronger lights flooding in silhouette a woman's figure. She is carrying a bundle in her arms, rocking it back and forth gently. At her feet is a creature gingerly grasping a smaller creature in its mouth.

As the woman enters the room, the more gentle light from the lamp displays her features clearly. She's a young woman, perhaps no more than twenty, her long blonde hair tumbling down in gentle curls. She holds in her arms a baby, wrapped in a wool blanket. The creature at her side is a lithe golden brown animal, long and graceful, but filled with power as well. He carries in his jaws a small kitten by the scruff of his neck, eyes closed in sleep.

Placing the baby down in the crib, the woman begins tucking her in, stopping to kiss the baby gently on the forehead. As she does this, the pine marten climbs into the crib, and with just as much care and love, tucks the kitten into the folds of the wool next to the baby girl.

A shadow fell on the woman as she finished. Straightening, she smiled warmly, comforted by the presence that was casting the shadow.

"She's just like you," the woman said, turning towards the door, "You know that, don't you?"

The man that was standing there, silhouetted by the hall light, cocked his head in interest. He had a strong build, tall and imposing, but his posture was one of thought and reclusion, not action and muscle. A hint of a warm and loving smile could be seen on his shadowed face.

At his side a large cat, perhaps a panther, sat. Her eyes glowed like pinpoints in shadow.

The man stepped forward, his features becoming more defined as he did so. The panther followed him, her fur a thousand tones of dark and shades of twilight. The man had short dark hair, incredibly fierce eyes that could stare down anything or anyone, and about his face was a warm glow of love for his wife and daughter before him.

"No, Lyra, she's more like you, I think," the man said as he raised his hands to embrace her.

But as they were about to touch, a terrible pain gripped at Lyra's heart, pulling her back.

"Nooo!!" she screamed, "Not now!"

About her, the windows shattered, the walls cracked, and a great wind stormed through the room. It was more than a wind, for it blew out more than the lights or rip down the drapes. The room, the shelves, the crib, and most painfully–oh, most terribly–her daughter and lover. Lyra watched helplessly as their forms were ripped away from her, scattered and erased out of existence.

She collapsed on the floor, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She lost them all–her parents, her friends, her love, her motherhood...

"No!"

The scream was different now, younger, more sudden and louder than before. But it was just as desperate and filled with pain as it was in her dream.

Lyra bolted up in bed, sweat streaming down her body, soaking her sheets, which were all tangled around her, strangling her for breath. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes wide with terror, while she felt a burning, vile pain building up in throat.

Scrambling out of bed, Lyra dashes for the bathroom. The bile pushes up into her mouth just as she throws open the toilet. Just in time, she leans over the bowl and vomits into the water below.

"Urgh..."

Lyra, her stomach empty, turns her head toward her roommate, standing in the doorway.

"Uh, Lyra, are you okay?"

Lyra could only nod weakly in reply.

"Maybe you should go see Dame Hannah, Lyra," the girl said, worry in her voice as she held her daemon–a tawny cat–in her arms. "I mean, you've been sick like this for days."

"...Yeah, sure..." Lyra murmured breathlessly, "You're right... Diana... I'll go... today."

Diana nodded, then–knowing Lyra wanted some privacy–she turned and closed the door behind her.

Picking up Pan, his fur wet with sweat and eyes dull with exhaustion, Lyra walked over toward the mirror and sink. Before her, Lyra's reflection was red-eyed with terror and fatigue. Her hair was matted against her forehead and cheeks, while her skin was pale white from fear and vomiting.

A single tear ran down her cheek. She couldn't hold back any longer. Collapsing on the floor, Lyra let loose all of the pent up tears and distress that were held in her tiny frame, clinging Pan–her only remaining life line--to her. He shares her pain and loss, wailing quietly with her.

"What's...What's happening... t-to me, Pan?" Lyra cries to him in between her shaking sobs. "Are... Are we d-d-dying?"

Pan nuzzles up against her, trying to comfort her, though he feels the same despair in his own heart.

"Maybe... Maybe we are, Lyra. Maybe we can't live with our Will and Kirjava, like we can't live without each other."

This only brought more tears. Lyra didn't want to remember, to relive that pain again.

"Why?" she asked, her voice lost and defeated, "Why did they have to go? Why couldn't we be together?"

Pan said the only thing he could think of, the only ray of hope he could see.

"Shhh..." he murmured, as if to a baby, "shhh, Lyra. Remember, today's Midsummer's Day. The first time we get to be together again, remember?"

Lyra only sobbed in agreement.

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So, What do you think? Please Review! Compliments and flamers welcome, just tell me what you think. Thanks!


	3. A Mother's Insight

Disclaimer: I don't own any HDM stuff: the plot, characters, etc.

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A MOTHER'S INSIGHT: PART I

Tick-tock; tick-tock; tick-tock.

Will looked up at the clock, his eyes anxiously watching the seconds pass by. His right foot tapped impatiently on the tiled floor. He bit his lip as his mind registered the time before him: thirty-five minuets after ten.

"Why is it so slow?" Will mutter angrily to himself.

Beside him another sat, a series of potted plants on the kitchen table before her. She was an older woman, not ancient by any means, but well worn with worry and care in her life. She had an odd quality about her; the remains of a nervous twitch and blank stare still evident on her motherly face.

Her eyes, sensitive and deep with love, held about them a lingering emptiness. It was almost as if she were oblivious to everything around her for years in the past and only recently began to become more aware and awake.

The woman's hands worked the plants delicately, transplanting some, pruning others. They moved automatically, knowing their skill and craft without guidance from the mind. She wasn't even looking at her plants, instead relying on the feel of leaf and soil to tell her what needed to be done.

The rest of her attention was directed on the boy sitting beside her, staring at the kitchen clock, his nerves wound up tighter than springs. She watched as Will began tapping the table with the remaining fingers on his wounded hand. The wound which he refused to explain.

"Will," the woman said softly, "Will, what's gotten into you lately? Why have you been so sullen and distracted these past few months?" After a long pause, in which everything seemed to freeze, she continued. "What's going on, Will? What's got you so anxious today?"

Her words were not meant to pry, her tone of voice made that clear beyond any doubt. She was merely worried; worried about the change in this loving and compassionate boy who suddenly became the dark brooding young man before her eyes. But Will couldn't see that, his mind blinded by the anger and despair which threatened to boil out of his every pore.

"I have to meet someone," Will said shortly, his eyes and tone betraying the tumbling emotions inside of him. For a moment his eyes became colder than steel, menacing points of power that shone through his distress. But by the time the woman realized their meaning, Will had already returned his gaze to the kitchen clock on the wall.

"Who?"

The question escaped her lips before she could think better of it, her sympathy and love for him reacting in her before reason had a chance to catch up. She wanted more than anything to ease his pain, for him to pour his worries on to her, even though he would never do that again. She knew her mistake as soon as she uttered the word, she saw the pain and terrible grief written on his face turn to anger and rage in an instant. It was a rage that couldn't be contained, one that lashed out at the only thing available to it: her.

"I don't want to talk about it, Mum!" Will cried out, his voice cracked with tears of pain and undirected hate. "Why can't you just leave me alone?! Why do you have to know about everything I do?!"

The words were the same uttered by every teenager to their parents; but what made these words different was the emotion behind them. Hatred--actual hatred--burst from Will as he snapped at his mother with passionate words and a rising voice.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Will shouted at his mother as he ran from the room, his foot steps banging down the hall as he slammed doors behind him. A shadow seemed to follow him, a shadow that seemed to growl with pent up rage and confusion.

Still sitting at the kitchen table, Elaine Parry quivered, struggling with the pain inside her. Her hands were white, clenched in fists around the arms of her chair, as tears streamed down her cheeks and her eyes burned with pain.

"Wh...Why?" Elaine sobbed, finally breaking as she collapsed on the table, covering her head with her arms.

"...Wha...what hap...happened to him? Why won't... he...tell me?"

"Shh...don't cry my child...shh..."

The voice was calm, sure and strong. It sounded the same as how Elaine so terribly desired to sound to Will, but deeper, wiser and more ancient than Elaine's could ever be. The voice sounded like a mother.

Elaine stopped in mid sob, hardly daring to breathe. Something new was building up in her mind, something stronger than her hurt. It felt like fear, or maybe awe, but calming, too; she felt like a child again, or as if she were in John's arms once more.

A gentle, warm hand touched her chin, pulling her up to look into the woman's eyes. With that touch, all worries flooded from Elaine, as she felt loved by this woman, loved more than she had ever been loved before. As Elaine saw her, she knew what she must have been, though she couldn't have said why or how. She was looking into the eyes of Gaia, of her Mother.

"Listen to me, my child," Mother Earth said quietly, "And I will tell you what has happened to your son, and what you must do to help him."

Elaine could do nothing but trust her. She listened as understanding began to dawn upon her.

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Will slammed the front door, storming out of the house. His emotions crackling about him like thunder, struggling to escape.

Inside, two pairs of eyes watch him from the window on the second floor. One belonged to a woman, a woman of mid age caught somewhere between beautiful youth and aged wisdom. Her hair was black and shoulder length. Her eyes held a keen mind, filled with curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.

The other pair belonged to a bird whose feathers mirrored the woman's hair, blending in with the strands as it perched on her shoulder. It's had an air of height about it, as if it were meant to live high above the earth and sea. His eyes though, were more than just a bird's; they shown with the same intense curiosity and thirst as the woman's.

"He's angry," the woman said with a sigh, "too angry."

"He has a right to be angry," the bird replied, his tone sympathetic, "He gained so much, only to loose it all."

"Of coarse he did," the woman agreed as she turned toward the door, " But that's no excuse for him to act this way to his mother..."

The woman walked across the room, opening the door to the hallway as she continued.

"...especially without an explanation."

She walked down the hallway, her sneakers making little sound on the carpeted floor, as the bird continued to argue.

"It's his decision, Mary," he reminded her, "If Will can't face the pain yet, we shouldn't force him too. He'll explain everything to Elaine when he's ready."

"This is different," Mary said, striding down the stairs, "Elaine knows something's wrong, and only wants to help Will. But instead he turns his frustration on _her_, and with out telling her why. His mother deserves better than that."

"Of coarse," the bird gave in, knowing that Mary was right.

As he said those words, his form began to dissolve from view. Mary wasn't worried, she knew he was still there, even if she couldn't concentrate enough to see him.

And so Mary opened the door to the kitchen alone, ready to calm a shocked and disheartened mother, thinking how best to explain all that happened in a way that was believable.

What she didn't expect to see was Elaine, sitting calmly at the table, working on her plants as if nothing had happened. True, she was crying, but gently, and a soft smile played across her lips.

"Umm...Elaine?" Mary asked in an unnerved sort of voice, "Are you alright?"

Elaine looked up at Mary, her eyes shining through the tears.

"Of coarse I am," she replied with a smile, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Mary took a seat across from Elaine, seeking to steady herself.

"Well, I just heard Will yelling at you," Mary said uncertainly, "and I thought you would need some kind of help... some kind of explanation."

"Oh, there's no need for that, Mary," Elaine said warmly, completely throwing Mary off balance. "I know what happened–and I understand. Will just needs some time to pull himself together, go on with life without her. I know he'll do better than I did without John."

Elaine said it all with such perfect calm, such surety and wisdom, that Mary could only sit there, gawking at her.

"Ho...How? D-did Will tell you?!" Mary exclaimed through her shock.

"Oh, no," Elaine replied, working on her plants, "he can't even face it himself, let alone confide in me. No, I saw it. A mother's instincts are never wrong. I may have been a little lost these past years, but the Mother's Insight"–Mary could hear the capitalization, like in Dust or the Knife–"returned to me today, and it all just sort of clicked together."

Elaine looked at Mary with a warm smile as she continued. "Don't worry, Mary, you'll understand when you have children of your own. Now, if you'll excuse me."

And with that, Elaine stood, taking her plants out to the garden for planting, leaving Mary sitting at the table, completely dazed and confused.

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Please review! Thanks for your input, it's helped out a lot!


	4. Love's Zenith

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any HDM stuff; blah, blah, blah.

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LOVE'S ZENITH

Life flows.

Those who know how to look can see it all around. Thought and wisdom move in great cycles, falling and rising in the sky, souring in a great unimaginable Dance.

It's golden light settles on beings of thought, gathering around curiosity, wisdom, awareness, and love. Especially love.

On this day, this sacred day of seasons–when the Warrior Sun reaches it's peak and height–this Solstice of summers, such an attraction is displayed in a city of Man.

In two of the uncountable numbers of worlds, there stands an ancient, rustic garden of botanic beauty. Overgrown with unweeded plants and invading vines, the ancient brick paths and walls stood–in both worlds–as a last fortification of wilderness in the sprawls of Man.

When the Sun's path reached it's zenith, the rusted iron of both gates creaked open in screeching protest. From different paths, two children entered the garden. Waves of golden light flowed off of them, trailing behind in their wakes.

Beside each child walked another, one a large cat, the other a small, lithe beast of the wood. Unlike the children, these beasts seemed to be _made_ of the golden light, rather than surrounded by it.

As the children and their companions drew closer together, an interplay began. Tendrils of the golden light from the boy and girl reached out toward each other, striving to touch. But as close as they were, they still could not connect... yet.

Great, deep bronze bells began to tone out the hour:

One...Two...Three...

The figures grew closer together, and golden essence began to throb from them, beating to the sound of the great bells.

...Four...Five...Six...

The pulses of life pound and quicken like a beating heart.

...Seven...Eight...Nine...

As the two paths begin to merge, the children meet at an ancient wooden bench under a sprawling oak. They stand side by side while the beat speeds like a racing heart.

...Ten... Eleven...

The boy standing on the left of the bench, the girl on the right, they turn, facing toward the wall, bending over to sit on the wooden seat. The two golden creatures sit before them, laying their bodies down. The beat is a rush now, unstoppable and blurred past return.

...Twelve.

As the twelfth bell tolled, the two children sat upon the frame. Sitting side by side, the golden auras became one, merging together in a bright corona of love and life. At the same time, the cat and marten lay on the path, their bodies folding in on each other, though never truly touching. On all four sets of lips, loving warm smiles spread, as if joy had wrapped them in a blanket, covering them from head to toe.

Above them all, in the sheltering arms of the oak, another figure stood. Her frame was beyond comprehension–tall, elegant, and ever shifting. She was unlike the children below her, or even the golden beasts, for she wasn't just _made _of the golden Dust, she _was _the Dust. It flowed from her like mist from a foggy crag. It danced and twirled with the wind, spread out like the leaves, sank into the Earth itself.

Gaia smiled as she watched these two no-longer-children embrace across the worlds. After a moment or two, she raised her arms and face to the sky, silently summoning the elements to her will.

About her, the gentle breeze grew into a gust, whirling around the children and daemons below–blessing them in some long-lost tongue–then turning back, up to The Mother.

As the wind danced below her, Pangaia Allmother spread her arms, her fingers growing into feathers, her frame shrank and shifted, becoming more stream-lined and compact.

The winds lifted her up, high into the air, and The Mother rode them with the same incredible grace as she walked the Earth.

And so it was, that at the moment of the Sun's highest and brightest point, the love of Adam and Eve reached its Zenith, as well.

But to those who had not the Sight, it was only a boy or a girl, sitting on an old bench, while a dove flew high into the air.

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I'm much better at this without conversation–as you can tell. Please review!


	5. Readings and Truth

DISCLAIMER: I am merely a humble bard, continuing the great epic of the legendary Bard of Anglica, Philip of the Pullman Clan. (In other words, I don't own HDM.)

APOLOGIES: Sorry it took so long to get this out, it's a long one. Unfortunately, I won't be able to update again until Mid-December, by the earliest. Damn college applications. Damn Boy Scouts for making a simple camp out require so mush ****ing red tape. Sorry, I needed to vent my anger.

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READINGS AND TRUTH

Oxford is a city of history and craft. Every brick and cobblestone, every length of timber and stretch of ivy was lovingly made and placed. It was a pride of Oxford that every square inch of the city was a work of art, whose story was handed down from generation to generation.

St. Sophia's College for Women and Girls was no exception. Though it was not as ancient or grand as Jordan, it still was a cherished work of art. It's various wings and halls built with care and detail, aged to perfection.

One of the greatest of these structures was the East Tower, a great stone spire overlooking the canal. It's ancient mortar and stone were dark with lichen and ivy, while the windows along it's length were thick and rippled, crafted when each pane of glass had to be poured individually.

At the very top of this tower was a dark blue slate shingled attic, a cone thrusting to the sky. Directly below was a buttressed balcony, it's battlements high and thick, toped with gargoyles and reliefs.

A woman stood on the balcony, her gray hair tied behind her in a pony tail, while a marmoset perched on her shoulders. Her maroon robes blowing in the wind marked her as a Scholar. A Scholar of the highest regard.

She stood, staring at the great golden sunset with old, patient eyes. Eyes which held an incessant curiosity, tempered by age and wisdom into a keen and sharp mind. Before her, the molten red globe of the sun laying dying, setting in the western hills.

"His prime is gone," the woman said aloud to her daemon, "the days will shorten now. The night waxes as the sun wanes..."

She was broken from her thoughts by a load, hollow banging from within the tower's walls.

"Coming!" the woman called into the tower. A sigh escaped her lips as she turned toward the balcony door.

"Never any rest for the wearry, is there, Jakien?"

Jakien nodded his agreement as he jumped down, leading the gray haired woman inside.

As they entered the tower, the pair paused a moment, allowing their eyes to adjust to the dark red gloom let in by the windows around the room.

It was an old, rustic room, filled with shelves and books. Not an inch of space was left open; the rooms numerous bookshelves covered most of the wall space, and where there was room, tapestries and paintings hide the walls from view. Several reading and coffee tables were scattered across the room, covered with books and scrolls. Various chairs lay about as well, all old and well used.

To the right of the balcony door was a huge, impressive desk, piled high with books and writings. Behind the desk stood an elegantly carved oak seat, perhaps even a throne; behind the seat an old, rusting iron stair case spiraled upwards, leading to the loft above. Across from the desk, on the other side of the round room, a huge and elegantly carved and arched door stood...

The woman jumped from her thoughts, as a second echoing boom emanated from the other side of the oaken door, bringing her back to reality. She strode to the door, muttering under her breath, as the marmoset trotted beside her.

Despite it's great weight, the huge door opened easily on well-oiled hinges, revealing the girl awaiting on the other side.

She had long dark blonde hair, which tumbled down in elegant curls to about shoulder length. In her arms she held a beautiful, red furred pine marten, his deep eyes filled with grace and power, while about her shoulder she carried a well-worn and soiled bag, it's contents hidden deep with the folds.

"Good Evening, Dame Hannah," Lyra said with a slight bow of her head.

"Ah, Lyra, come in and make your self at home," Dame Hannah replied as she stepped back, giving room for the girl to enter.

Lyra stepped across the threshold, her eyes slightly unfocused and lost. Yet Dame Hannah seemed to catch a glimpse of something more in those eyes, something new which was not there the last time she had seen the girl. Something calm, something not unlike tranquility.

Together, the student and teacher made their way across the room, towards the great desk at the other end. Dame Hannah paused before the desk, pulling a chair out for the girl, before walking around to her own grand chair behind the desk.

"You seem to be in a better mood than your last lesson, Lyra," the Dame commented after she had taken a seat. "Do you mind telling me why; or what's been the problem of late?"

"Hmmm...."

Lyra didn't appear to be listening. Her chin resting in her hand, she gazed out in the evening sun, staring out of the balcony door. The brilliant golden red light poured in, illuminating the girl in her own golden nimbus, highlighting and deepening the lustrous red fur of the marten on her shoulder. It almost seemed to the older woman that the girl and her daemon were casting their own golden light; like bright sparkles on the water, or dust in a sunbeam, it flowed over them, bathing them in it's light...

"I don't know," Lyra said, breaking Dame Hannah from her trance. "Over the last week or two, I've felt so... miserable. Almost drained, like I was loosing the will to live, or something was feeding off of me. Then I started to be sick in bed. I felt like I was dying. I was terrified."

Lyra paused, and with a deep sigh, turned her head towards the woman before her.

"But this afternoon... I don't know...I felt," Lyra paused again, searching for the proper words. "I felt calm; almost as if I was with Will again." A feint smile crossed her lips as she continued, " I could almost hear him comforting me, telling me that everything would be alright."

Dame Hannah looked into the girls eyes, sympathy pouring out of her. She knew what it was like to loose a loved one, but to loose so much, so soon...

"And now, what do you feel?"

"I still don't know what's happening to me," Lyra replied quietly, "And I want to know, but I feel like it doesn't matter; kinda like it's out of my hands..."

Dame Hannah's mouth twitched at the use of the word _kinda_, but held her correction back.

"Well, that at least provides us with a place to start," Dame Hannah said instead, "If you want to know what has been happening, what better way to find out then through the alethiometer?"

A regretful sigh escaped from Lyra as she replied, " I don't think there will be much improvement from last night, Dame Hannah."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure," Dame Hannah said with a smile, "You're obliviously thinking much more clearly, and, as I told you before, the clearer and more focused the reader's mind, the more successful the reading."

With that, Dame Hannah stood, and strode over toward one of the many piles of books scattered throughout the room, rummaging through them.

"Why not?" Lyra muttered, with the tiniest hint of exasperation in her tone.

Bending over, Lyra gently opened the shoulder bag beside her chair. Slowly, reverently, it seemed, she removed a soft velvet bundle from within. Placing it on her lap, Lyra unwrapped the cloth, to reveal a beautifully crafted instrument, it's golden face etched with tiny, detailed symbols, framing four delicate and fine needles behind the glass.

By this point, Dame Hannah had returned, carrying a pile of thick, heavily bound leather tomes. Their binding scratched and marked with use, these books held up against the ages. Various symbols were etched along their bindings, most notably and common was a likeness of a cauldron or crucible. These were the keys to truth, the language of the oracle. The Books of Meanings.

"So," Dame Hannah said as she sat down once more, placing the books on her desk with a grunt.

"So, Lyra, how should the question be phrased?"

Lyra's response was direct and crisp, "Through the most direct, yet complete means possible. The question must incorporate all relevant points and references, but can only be comprised of three symbols."

"Well, at least you bothered to study," Dame Hannah replied slyly, "That's a welcome change after yesterday's lesson. Now let's see if you can apply it."

Dame Hannah reached under her desk, and, opening a drawer, removed a note book and fountain pen from within.

"Here, think about how best to ask the question, then show me when you think you have it right."

Taking the paper and pen, Lyra bent over the desk, a stray lock of hair falling in front of her face. With out a thought, Lyra brushed it aside, then, pen in hand, she began to write.

But before she was finished, Lyra paused, and reread what she wrote. Then, shaking her head, she crossed out the unfinished question and began again.

This time, Lyra took a moment or two to think through her question, then she wrote once more. But once again she stopped, and had to start over before she even finished. Two more times she wrote the question, before she was finally satisfied with her work.

Through it all, the older woman waited patiently, studying Lyra and her daemon while they worked, watching closely, observing their actions and thoughts. When Lyra handed her the completed work, Dame Hannah accepted it with out comment, and read everything the girl had written, from start to finish.

"Hmm...'Why am I constantly sick in the morning?' " Dame Hannah read aloud, "Very good, Lyra, you caught yourself several times. You changed every morning' to constantly', very good..."

The Dame handed the notebook back to her pupil.

"Very well, if you think you are ready, find the symbols to ask the question–and remember, the lower down on the ladder of meanings, the harder it is to hold the question in your mind."

Lyra nodded her head, an action that clearly said _yes, ma'am, _and went to work once more. Instead of opening the Books of Meaning, however, Lyra picked up the alethiometer, gently placing it in her lap. She closed her eyes, then began to stare deeply at the instrument, a look of stern concentration on her brow. She studied those symbols, the symbols she once knew so well, as Pan whispered in her ear.

After over a minuet of studying, Lyra took the pen in hand once more, and wrote a single word below the last line.

Again, she returned to the symbols, digging into the vaults of her memory, searching for their hidden meanings. Once more, after several minuets, she wrote down a single word below the question, then continued.

But her memory had failed her. When next Lyra raised her head, it was not to write down a symbol, but to take one of the Books of Meaning in hand. Vigorously, she flipped through the pages, searching on paper where her memory had failed.

About midway through she stopped, scanning the charts and words before her, her daemon's eyes following as well. Several pages later, Lyra paused, and wrote another word below the others.

Taking a deep breath, Lyra raised her head proudly. Confident in her work, Lyra's eyes held a lost pride, a set determination in her rose out once more.

Dame Hannah took the paper, read through it several times, then set it back down before the girl.

"Very good," the Dame said, a smile on her lips, "You actually used the books this time, that's definitely an improvement."

Lyra blushed, remembering last night's argument when she refused to use the books and failed miserably.

"I would suggest, however," Dame Hannah continued, "That you don't include morning' in the symbols; it's meaning is too far down the Camel's list for you to hold in the mind very easily."

"What should I use instead?"

"Perhaps you should focus on yourself, Lyra," Dame Hannah replied, "Instead of keeping I' in your mind, refer to yourself directly. You call your self Silvertongue, correct?"

"Yes, Iorek gave me the name"

"Ah, yes, the King of the Bears. Well, perhaps the Marionette for grace, or the Serpent for guile."

"Guile," Lyra said firmly, as she crossed out the Camel and replaced it with the Serpent. When she had finished, she looked up pleadingly into the Dame's eyes.

"May I?"

"If you believe you are ready," Dame Hannah replied with a slight nod of her head.

Smiling, the girl placed the notebook aside, and picked up the alethiometer gently in her hands. The same stubborn lock of hair fell in her face once more, and with just as much grace as before, Lyra pulled it back behind her ear.

As Lyra turned the dials lovingly, almost as a mother caressing her child, Pan climbed down her arm, seating himself decide the instrument, his face the same mask of concentration and determination as the girl's.

Taking a deep breath, Lyra prepared herself, clearing her mind, removing all distractions. Then, without giving herself time for doubt, she set her eyes determinedly on the face of the golden instrument.

Ten minuets passed quietly, and the bright golden glow of the setting sun had turned a dull blood red by the time Lyra looked up from her trance.

Dame Hannah watched calmly, waiting for what she knew would come.

A deep sigh escaped from Lyra, her shoulders rose and fell heavily beside her.

"I can't do it," she said finally, shaking her head, "I can't hold the question in my mind."

Dame Hannah could see the disappointment in the girl's eyes. Lyra Silvertongue Belecqua had failed. The Dame knew that even progressing to this level was an amazing feat for a 13 year old, but she say how hard it hurt the girl to fail where she had once excelled. Excelled with so much ease, but now she couldn't ask one simple question.

"Don't worry, child," the gray haired Scholar said soothingly. "The question incorporated several deeper meanings, and you have only just begun your training here. Not many would be able to accomplish what you have done." The woman paused, a gentle smile on her face. "It took me two years before I could even begin to understand the alethiometer's meanings, and you have accomplished that in less than a month!"

Lyra looked up at the woman, her eyes filled with a new surge of pride. It wasn't the same arrogance that she held months before, where she believed she could do anything better than anyone, but it was pride none the less. A pride which could never be broken.

"Here," the Dame continued, extending her hand, "Even though you can not ask the question, perhaps you can read the answer."

Wordlessly, Lyra handed the golden instrument to the Scholar, then stood, and made her way around the desk, to stand beside the oaken chair and watch as Dame Hannah began her reading.

The Dame's movements were sure and steady, well practiced and filled with a wisdom and intuition honed by years of learning and study. The woman set the dials, then taking her daemon in her lap, closed her eyes and focused on the question at hand.

Lyra watched, focused entirely on the jerking hand below.

Tree, tree, tree, pause.

Madonna, pause.

Then the hand picked up its continual swinging, lost in the tides of Dust.

Blinking in surprise, Lyra looked up from the instrument. _She had followed it!_ She actually could read the answer! But then again, it was a simple question.

Lyra turned to face the woman, expecting to see Dame Hannah's ancient and kind eyes ready to question her on what she read. Instead, she was surprised to see the Dame's eyes wide with shock staring at her with something close to disgust.

"Umm...Dame Hannah?" Lyra asked uncertainly, "The third meaning for the Tree is fertility, right?"

The question seemed to snap the Scholar out of her shock, but she continued to gaze at Lyra in an odd way.

"Yes, it is," the woman replied in a quiet, almost strained voice.

"And the Madonna means motherhood..." Lyra's brow bent in confusion. "A fertile mother... What does that have to do with me being sick, Dame Hannah?"

Behind her confusion, a hint of worry began to creep into Lyra's voice; the answer was beginning to dawn on her, yet it was still out of reach.

"Mothers often have vomiting fits during the first months of their pregnancy, Lyra," Dame Hannah replied, her voice now softening to a sympathetic tone.

"But that means..." Lyra stopped in mid-sentence, looking up at the teacher. The full weight and implications of the message had hit her right at that moment.

"Your pregnant, Lyra," Dame Hannah finished quietly.

Lyra just stood there, her jaw open and eyes wide, just staring at the woman sitting before her. Her daemon's shaking body wrapped tightly around her neck, as her shoulders rose and fell in short breaths. Her heart beating heart pounded against her chest as Dame Hannah continued.

"I'm sorry, Lyra, but that's what it means."

Suddenly Lyra's knees collapsed, unable to hold up the sudden weight of this simple truth. Kneeling there, her eyes wide with shock and worry, Lyra's shoulders began to quake, as sobs strained to escape.

"Who... Ho... How?" Lyra asked, unable to say more in between her sobs.

Yet even as the words left her lips, Lyra realized how it happened, realized what this meant, and suddenly, she knew that it was right. A smile came to her lips as she moved her hands to her stomach, to where beautiful life now grew within her.

"Will," was all she said, as hot burning tears of love and joy fell down her cheeks.

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Please Review! Did I do a better job at dialog this time? I hope it's better than Ch. 3... I need to redo that chapter.


	6. Tugging on the Strands of Fate

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Okay, I'm back. Sorry I haven't updated in a whileÉlife got in the way. 

For starters, I needed to fill out all those EFFIN' forms for applying to colleges and scholarships (I still have more scholarships to go, shit), not to mention all those stupid essays. The good news is I got into two so far, just need to decide on which one to go to.

Then there was fencing: practice 5 days a week and all-day tournaments on the week ends; very exhausting. It's fun, though.

Well, I read The Da Vinci Code, so now I'm going to try and incorporate all the kick-ass symbolism, iconography and religious ideas that are masterfully displayed in that work of sweet paganism. (In the voice of a Southern, hand-raisin', feet stompin', pulpit-preachin' Reverend: "PRAAIIISE THE GODDESS!!!!")

Also, I attended the KICK-ASS conference known as TEDÑTechnology, Entertainment, and Design. I highly suggest you check out the websiteÑwww.ted.com. To give you an idea of what's there, I saw the world's first _real_ flying car, art etched on a grain of sand, the founders of google.com, and a clock that can keep _precise _time for 10,000 years with out maintenance, just to name a few.

One of the speakers, Sheila Patek, spoke about mantis shrimp, which use a spring-like devise in their arms to smash snails with 200 lbs of pressure per sq inch at 40 miles per hour _under water!!!_ (Keep in mind that it's _shrimp_ we're talking about, here!) They reminded me of the _mulefa_'s wheels, and I told her that afterwards. Turns out she was reading Amber Spyglass, and had it in her hotel room! That was cool.

Anyway, for those of you who don't like what I'm doing with the whole sex thing, I can appreciate that. Thing is though, this isn't about sex, but about the cycles of lifeÑof which sex is a key component of. I'll explain my reasoning at the end of the story, but see if you can figure it out for yourselves.

Here are some reading assignments to help you out:

1) The Da Vinci Code. This will introduce you to some interesting concepts behind the Divine Female, orgasms as a form of Communion with God/Goddess, the Holy Grail, Jesus' sex life, and the balance between the male and female aspects in our lives.

2) Any of the books by Morgan Llewelyn

3) Reread His Dark Materials, specifically the following scenes:

In The Golden Compass, when Lord Asriel tells Lyra about Adam and Eve, Original Sin, and Dust

In The Amber Spyglass, both scenes when Ms. Coulter talks about Lyra and the temptation to Lord Asriel's Lieutenants and The President of the Court. Also read the Marzipan chapter.

Oh, yes, at the end of the fic, there will be a lexicon of names and terms I have used throughout the story (all, or at least most of them, are based on fact and real languages). It will include meaning, language, pronunciation, and source.

DISCLAIMER: I have long hair, a silver earring, a mustache and goatee, and wear a kilt to school. That certainly doesn't sound like Philip Pullman, now does it? HDM are in no way, shape, or form mine, they are PP and NEW LINE's (and I wish they'd hurry up on the friggin' movies!!)

TUGGING ON THE STRANDS OF FATE

"Well, Hafror," Mary said with a sigh, "That's another interview gone bust.

She was walking along a shady path towards the parking lot of one of the many corporate laboratories and research centers that dotted Oxford's streets. The building behind her was a neo-modern structure, completely out of place in the established culture of Oxford's architecture. No one was in sight, save the bird that flew above her in the trees. It's black, lustery feathers reflected the glaring noonday sun as it fluttered from branch to branch, never getting too far ahead from the woman below.

"We may need to take a job as a clerk or secretary some where," Mary continued, her voice grudgingly accepting defeat.

The bird dropped in the air suddenly, diving downwards to land lightly on the woman's shoulder.

"Is this the same Mary Malone that found a way to talk to angels?" he asked incredulously, "Or who refused to let the wheel pods float out to sea? Because this certainly isn't the Mary _I_ know; she would _never_ give up this easily.

"But what can we do?" Mary countered heatedly, "No one will accept me with out letters of recommendation, a proper resume, and investigating any criminal files. Who will hire a scientist who was fired for destroying her lab?

"I don't know, but we can't work as a clerk or something. We can't live like that! To never satisfy our curiosity, to never learn anything new? No, we can't do that, and you know it.

"Yeah, I know," Mary sighed, "If only we didn't have to destroy the CaveÉ We could have explained away the rest

"Oi, Mary! Wait Up!

The voice was deep and familiar. Normally highly urbane, the exclamation sounded coarse and out of place coming from that voice. Inside, Mary cringed, though she kept her body still and calm. _Oh, shit!_

"Don't tell him anything first, let him lead the conversation," Hafror warned her as he faded out of sight.

Behind her, Mary heard the pounding footsteps running on the pavement, growing closer every second. _Okay Mary, you can do this, just stay calm, _she thought to herself, willing her muscles to relax. Turning slowly, wishing there was a way to escape, Mary faced the incoming speaker.

He was a tall man, not a giant by any means, but still above average. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing his high forehead and slightly receding hairline. His skin bore the fairness of one who spends most of their time inside, yet it held a hint of the tanned and worn look of those who are used to travel and exposure to the elements. His noseÑlong and sharpÑwas like the beak of a hawk, while his eyesÑwhich shown with a quick intelligenceÑonly made the comparison more appropriate. Over a loose button-down shirt and khakis he wore a light duster, it's fabric waving behind him like the wings of a diving raptor.

Realizing that she was waiting for him, the man slowed down, and eventually stopped just a few feet in front of her.

"Mary," the man said with a smile, "I've missed you.

Mary's expression was warily neutral as she faced at her former collogue.

"Hello Oliver," she replied, "It's been a while.

Suddenly, with out any warning, Oliver closed the gap between them, and enveloped Mary in a tight embrace. Mary wasn't sure what to expect when she turned to meet him, but this sure as hell wasn't it.

"WhaÉ Oliver, I, umÉ" Mary stammered, thrown completely off-balance by Oliver's unexpected behavior.

Just as suddenly, Oliver pulled out of the embrace, pushing himself back, yet his strong hands continued to hold her by the shoulders. His keen eyes moved about Mary's features, as if appraising her. And to make matters even more unnerving, that warm smile still danced on his lips.

"Were have you _been_ these last four months, Mary?" he asked her, "I've been so worried.

"Worried? _Okay, this _really_ isn't what I was expecting! Were's the yelling and cursing for destroying his life's work, not to mention sabotaging the entire project?_

"Yeah, worried! Oliver exclaimed, giving her a little shake, "First that whole mysterious business with the government, then Sir Charles' sudden interest and just as sudden disappearance, the destruction of the Cave, and then _you _disappear. I had no idea what happed to you! It's been _four months_, Mary! You could have died for all I knew!

_I didn't know he cared that much_,Mary thought to herself, _but that still doesn't explain_

"Then I heard that a woman was circling the labs of Oxford, searching for a job, but refusing to give so much as a resumeÉ thinking it might be you, I followed it up. What in heaven's name have you been doing?

"I was looking for a job," Mary replied, her surprise evident in her voice.

"Why? Oliver seemed shocked by that. His face stamped with surprise as he let his arms drop to his side.

"I thought I was fired.

"Fired?! Why would I fire you, one of the most brilliant minds in the field of Dark Matter?

"Oliver," Mary said, her brow bent in confusion, "I was wanted for destroying the lab, for goodness sakes!

"What? Oh, come now, Mary, how could they have believed you did that? There was no evidence! The tapes were destroyed, and the guard couldn't remember a thing. I can't believe they did that!

Mary stood speechless in front of him, her mouth agape. _WHAT!! That couldn't be true!_

"AÉ are you serious?" she managed to ask.

"Of coarse, I just don't understand why they would think it was you. You're just as passionate about Dark Matter as I am. You fought tooth and nail to keep the project alive, why would you destroy it just when we got the funding we needed? I mean, I know you were uncomfortable with Sir Charles, but still!

At those words, Mary felt a sudden chill. She _had _destroyed the lab, not because of Sir Charles, but because of the angels. But she couldn't very well tell Oliver that.

"Yeah, I couldn't believe it either," she murmured, staring at her feet.

Oliver didn't seem to notice though; he just continued to smile down at her.

"So, do you want to come back?

Mary looked up at him with disbelieving eyes.

"Of coarse I do," she managed to say.

"Excellent!" Oliver said happily, "I'll expect you at the Lab at 9 o'clock on Monday, then. Again, Oliver pulled her in a tight embrace, patting her on the back as he did so. "It will be good to have you back Mary, the Lab hasn't been the same without you.

Mary felt like she couldn't hold back the tears of guilt that were welling up inside of her. _He's been so good to me, how can I dare lie to him like this?_ But some how she managed with just a small, choking sob.

When Oliver finally released her from the hug, she saw that his eyes were watering as well, but for an entirely different reason.

"Well, now that that's settled," he said light-heartedly, "What _have _you been up to these past four months?

Again, a sharp pang of guilt stabbed Mary in the heart. After all this man had done for her, here she was lying to him. But there was nothing else she could do.

"I skipped town for awhile," Mary told him softly, thinking up something that sounded plausible. "I stayed with some friends of mine, I guess to let the heat off, you know? Then, after about a month or so, I came back and stayed with some friends here.

"Who?

"The Parry's, you wouldn't know them. Will was a friend of that girl, Lyra, and we got to know each other after a while. For some reason, Oliver face darkened at this, almost saddened. "But his mother wasn't in the best of health, so I've been staying with him. He's only a teenager, and can't really take care of her on her own, so I decided to help him out.

At the mention of Will's age, Oliver's demeanor returned to its former state. Mary was even more confused by this strange behavior, but let it pass.

"So, you've just been staying with friends this whole time?

"Pretty much, yeah.

"Must have been rather boring, not working on anything exciting or new.

_Oh, you couldn't be further of the mark if you tried,_ Mary thought to herself, but only shrugged in reply.

Checking his watch, Oliver gave a start.

"Oh, listen Mary, I've got to go, but I'll see you on Monday, right?

"Of coarse," Mary smiled in reply.

"Good," Oliver smiled back, "See you then

Mary watched him turn back towards the offices, a worried expression on her face. _He just welcomed me back with open arms, and in return, I lie to his faceÉ How can I ever repay him?_ Suddenly an idea came to her, she didn't know how it would help, but she felt an irresistible urge to try, anyway.

"Oliver, wait!

The man turned around, watching her with curious eyes.

"Um, listen, I was wonderingÉ" Mary started, unsure of herself, "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming over for dinner tomorrow night. A celebration, if you will.

A smile came up on his face as he asked, "A celebration of your return or of Lughnasadh?

Mary smiled in return, she had forgotten how much of a Renaissance Man he was, and it warmed her to hear him display his repository of knowledge once more.

"Both.

"I would be honored," and with that, he turned around, and continued on his way.

Mary couldn't help but notice the little spring in his step, as she herself turned around to speak with Harfor about this interesting development.

In the branches above, two fingers watched with more then passing interested as the man and woman separated below. One, barely seen in the sun's blinding glare, held a light of soft moon-lit hue that seemed to spread from her own form. Tall and elegant, she was as young as a maiden, yet her nude form was etched with ancient lines.

The other form was even more beautiful. She, too, was illuminated by a light from within, yet hers was a bright golden glow that seemed to shine across the entire world. Her hair, long and golden blonde, was held back by a crown of woven wheat, and her gown seemed to be spun with threads of gold and gossamer blue.

"Was that truly necessary, my Mother," the angel asked, "Is the bard that vital to our purposes?

"Yes he is, Xaphania," Demeter replied, "His role is minor, true, but key in the web I weave.

"Then why not let them drift together subtly, rather than this conspicuous manipulation?

The mother smiles gently at the angel before her.

"The years of hiding and lack of power have softened you, my Harbinger," the Zaramama chided her, "Remember, I am a spider mending her web. Sometimes it is necessary to tug on the strands of fate, in order to close the gaps and tighten the weave. Come, we have much to, and little time.

Again, sorry it took me so long to get back. (I know, 6 months is a bit much). Any way, hope you review. This week is Spring Break, so I'm hoping to get the next chapter, Dryads and Aerosmith, up in a few days.

Toodles!


	7. Dryads and Aerosmith

AURTHOR'S NOTES: Just jamming to some Led Zeplin at the moment. Alright, Evanesance is okay, but you guys have to get some good music, some lyrics that actually _mean_ something.

Stairway to Heaven, I Don't Want to Miss a Thing, Tears in Heaven, Amazing Grace, Ohio, Find the Cost of Freedom, Hey Jude, She's Always a Woman to Me, Only the Good Die Young, Dream On, Thick As a Brick, Hymn 43; these are _kick-ass_ songs. Go out and find the classics, people!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own His Dark Materials. I wish I did, butÉ oh well.

DRYADS AND AEROSMITH

"So _why_ exactly did you invite him to dinner?" Hafror asked incredulously.

"I don't know," was Mary's reply as she shook her head in confusion. "It just feltÉright, you know?

Hafror remained silent on her should, pondering the implications. It didn't need to be said that he knew how Mary felt, they both knew that he had felt it too. It wasÉa compulsion, a deep-seated need that suddenly came to surface within them. Hafror didn't like it, he never liked anything that he couldn't comprehend and understand.

"I know, Mary, but I don't understand.

"Nether do I, Hafror, nether do I.

With a sigh, the bird began to fade away from view, as Mary turned her attention to the up coming house.

Pulling into the driveway, Mary was surprised to find Elaine standing alone in the side yard, standing under the branches of a small tree. Mary remembered seeing that tree when she first came to live with the Parry's, just a few months ago. From its bark and leaf pattern, she recognized it as a yew tree. But, unlike when she first came here, it's leaves were brown and shriveled, and many of the branches were bare, their leaves fallen to the ground. _It's much to early for Autumn_, Mary thought as her brow knitted in confusion. It was then that the answer hit her: the tree was dying. _But how could it have degraded so fast?_

As Mary got out of the car, she noticed what exactly Elaine was doing. It looked like she was stroking the barkÉ no, not stroking, caressing, more like. Mary knew Elaine was a big gardener, but was she really _that_ into plants?

It wasn't until Mary got closer to her that Mary saw the tears running down Elaine's face. Her eyes held dark rings about them and she looked paler then usual. But it was the eyes them selves that held Mary's attention. They held an unbearable loss. Mary had only ever seen one other pair of eyes like that: Will's. But Elaine had some kind ofÉstability that Will lacked. It was almost as if she was filled with despair, but knew that everything would work out in the end.

"Elaine?" Mary asked as she got closer, "Are you alright?

For a long moment Elaine didn't respond, simply stood there with tears in her eyes, staring up at the sickly leaves.

Then, without turning, Elaine replied, "John gave me this yew seed on the day of our marriage. He said that so long as it continued to grow, I would know that he was safe, and thatÑno matter where he was on earthÑhe would always be by my side.

Mary didn't know how to respond, and thought it best to simply wrap her arms around her friend's shoulders.

A heavy sigh escaped from Elaine's lips, and she closed her eyes as she leaned against the younger woman.

"Come on in, Elaine, let's get you in side.

Elaine simply nodded her head, as Mary lead her towards the door.

The bedroom was a mess, objects thrown about and left where they were dropped, as if the owner no longer cared. And he didn't.

Clothes were piled up in a corner, the bed left unmade. The wastebasket was overflowing with crumpled paper, and the desk was even worse. Sheets were scattered on its surface, various images and sketches on their faces. None were very good, but not for lack of trying. Some were colored in pencil, others done in pen. Many had been partially erased, and most were left incomplete. Sitting against the wall on the floor was the figured of a young man, his head bowed in his folded arms, resting against his bent knees. His face lay hidden under a mop of dark hair, but if he looked up, one would see his face streaked with tears.

A CD case lay on top of the stereo by the desk. In big white letters, the words "Big Ones" were written over a blue and black pattern, and above was stamped a red symbolÑa large "A" within a circle, with spread wings. From the speakers, a powerful blend of sounds were flowing. The crying of the harmonica sounded out in harmony with the passionate striking of an electric guitar. The melody resembled the American style of the Blues, and the lyrics were a testament to the musical roots.

"There was a time

When I was so brokenhearted

Love wasn't much of a friend of mine

The tables have turned - yeah

'Cause me and them ways have parted

That kinda love was the killin' kind.

The voice was that of a man's, but had a husky sort of quality to it that made the distinct impression of long hair and the terms "Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll.

"All I want is someone I can't resist

I know - all I - need to know

By the way I got kissed

"I was cryin' when I met you

Now I'm tryin' to forget you

Your love is sweet misery

I was cryin' just to get you

Now I'm dyin' 'cause I let you

Do what you do down on me

"Now there's not even breathing room

Between pleasure and pain

Yeah you cry when we're makin' love

Must be one and the same

"It's down on me

Yeah, I got to tell you something

It's been on my mind, girl I gotta say

We're partners in crime

You got that certain something

What you do to me takes my breath away

"Now the word out on the street

Is the devil's in your kiss

If our love goes up in flames

That's a fire I can't resist

"I was cryin' when I met you

Now I'm tryin' to forget you

Your love is sweet misery

I was cryin' just to get you

Now I'm dyin' 'cause I let you

Do what you do to me

The reverberating cords of the guitar sound out in a powerful solo, wrenching the heart in their desperate sounds.

'Cause what you got inside

Ain't where your love should stay

Yeah, our love, sweet love, ain't love

'Til you give your heart away

"I was cryin' when I met you

Now I'm tryin' to forget you

Your love is sweet misery

I was cryin' just to get you

Now I'm dyin' just to let you

Do what you do, what you do down on me

Baby, baby, baby

Suddenly, the harmonica's cries ring out stronger than before, and the other instruments mellow to allow the hoarse notes of the silver box to scream out their pain and suffering, love and loss.

"I was cryin' when I met you

Now I'm tryin' to forget you

Your love is sweet misery

I was cryin' when I met you

Now I'm dyin' 'cause I let you

Do what you do down to, down to, down to

"I was cryin' when I met you

Now I'm tryin' to forget you

Your love is sweet misery

The music faded away into silence, as a shadowy paw moved over the volume dial. Suddenly, a knock sounds on the bedroom door. The boy doesn't stir at either sound.

"Will" Kirjava murmurs in his ear.

"Will, I'm coming in," Mary's voice comes from the other side of the door.

The door opens, pushing aside pile of clothes and papers, as it did so, and Mary's figured stood in the threshold. Still, Will doesn't move.

"Dinner's ready, Will.

Will's only reply is an unintelligible mutter.

"Hurry down, before it gets cold," Mary says quietly as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Will just sits there, unmoving. Softly, yet strongly, Kirjava butts her head against his, forcing it up to face her.

"Will, you need you're strength.

"Yeah, Kir," Will whispers, "I know.

Slowly, Will moves to rise.

The table was silent. The kind of unbearable, oppressing quite of the grave. Mary couldn't take it any more, and decided to force a conversation down the Parrys' throats. Turning to Elaine, Mary said abruptly, "I got my job back, today.

Elaine responded with a smile, though not as large as she the ones she once gave.

"Why, that's wonderful, Mary," she replies in a stained, yet warm voice, "Isn't it, Will?

Will looks up, a sad, forced smile on his lips. It quickly fades away as he returns to stabbing his plate with a fork. "Yea, it is," he mutters.

Hoping for a better reaction, Mary was a little disappointed. But she wasn't going to give up that easily. Besides, she still hadn't told them about tomorrow.

"UmÉ. To celebrate, I kind of invited my boss, Oliver, to dinner tomorrow.

"Oh," a more pronounced smile came to Elaine's lips, "that nice. Where?

"Here, if that's alright," Mary cursed her self; she hadn't thought about the fact that Elaine, and especially Will, might not want a stranger in their house.

"Oh, that's fine, darling, I don't mind. I'm sure Will doesn't either. At this Elaine looked over at her son, to find him glaring at her. His eyes left no doubt to his feeling about the matter.

"Fine, whatever," he says moodily, rising from his seat, "I'm going to bed.

The two women watched him as he leaves the table, his half eaten meal lying forsaken at his place, both sets of eyes shining with worry and love. Mary's was a hurt look of helplessness, while Elaine watched her son with a soft, delectate regret.

"He can't keep doing that," Mary says with a sigh, "He can't stay in his room for the rest of his life, brooding. He was doing so wellÑall things consideredÑa few weeks ago, but now

"Don't worry dear," Elaine said, patting Mary's hand reassuringly, "he's just going through a phase, that's all. I expect he'll perk up again soon, just give him time. He'll come out of this perfectly fine

But Elaine didn't voice the end of that thought, which echoed in her mind, _Even if I can't._

AUTHOR'S NOTES: At the moment, all my writing juices are being sucked out for school (I'm taking two creative writing courses). The Bad News: less time and energy to write fan fiction. The Good News: when I'm done, the chapters will be much better, better dialog, better tone, better pacing.

Also, Props to anyone who can name the song from Will's stereo, as well as the group who recorded it (I gave several hints, besides the lyrics). 

Please Review! Good, bad, indifferent, whatever.

And who knows how to make the second set of quotes appeare on the site? When I upload, the ending quotation marks just don't appear. And what's with the wierd symbols in place of the dash and elipses? Is it beacuase I have a iMac?


	8. Hope

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. The past couple of months have been rather hard, for a variety of reasons. And now I have college to contend to. But now, I'm in the mood for this chapter, so, here it is.

Oh, and for those of you who found (or didn't find) the clues: the song was Cryin' by Aerosmith.

HOPE

The door opened slowly, and Diana turned, scraping her chair against the floor. Lyra stood there, looking as tired as ever, holding her hand to her stomach. But as soon as she saw Diana looking at her, she straightened and quickly moved her hand to the strap across her shoulder.

"Hi," she said quietly.

"Hi," Diana replied, having given up trying to get Lyra to tell her anything.

Gently, Lyra unslung her bag and laid it on her bed. Diana could see a stirring bulge within, which she assumed to be Pan.

Diana turned back to her homework before her as Lyra began to undress.

"Did you make any progress?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"With the alethiometer, I mean."

In response, Diana could sense Lyra stiffen. _Maybe I shouldn't have said that_... She thought.

"Sort of..." Lyra's voice was soft and harsh all at once. "Listen, I'm dead tired, I'm just going to go to bed, Okay?"

Sighing, Diana shrugged, "Sure."

Still staring at her papers, Diana heard the shuffling of sheets and creaking mattress, followed by the gentle nuzzling of Lyra's daemon against her neck. And so completed the day's ritual; Lyra would awake in the early morning, watch the sun rise, then go and study alone or with Dame Hanna, she would eat alone at meal times, and in class, she would stay quiet, daydreaming. Finally, when she did stop her studying, she went right to sleep.

After several long minuets, Felis asked quietly, "What does she dream about, that she spends so much time dreaming, day and night?"

"We may never know, we may never know..."

Briinngg! Briinngg! Briinngg!

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm coming," Mary muttered quietly as she checked herself once more in the mirror. _Why am I acting so... giddy? Its just Oliver, for crying out loud!_

Briinngg!

"Okay, okay," with one final useless brush of her hair, Mary turned and opened the door.

"Good evening, Mary," Oliver said, standing on the porch. Mary noticed in a glance a light sports jacket had replaced his usual duster, and his hair, though usually neatly pulled back, seemed even nicer now, though it was still held only in a ponytail.

"Oliver! Oh, do come in!" Mary said a bit hurriedly.

"Thank you," he smiled at her kindly.

"So, is this you're date?"

They both looked up to find Elaine standing in the hallway, a mischievous grin on her lips.

"Elaine!" Mary gasped, fully embarrassed, as her flaming blush clearly showed.

Elaine proceeded to ignore her as she walked up to Oliver, albeit with a bit of difficulty, and greeted him warmly, "It's a pleasure, Dr. Payne, to have you in our home."

Oliver, who at first looked a bit off-put, gathered himself quickly and smiled, "Thank you, and the name is Oliver, by the way."

"Of coarse."

Mary, meanwhile was agape at Elaine's attitude toward the whole thing, _Oliver isn't my _date

Meanwhile, Oliver had moved out of the door way and into the hallway, while Elaine was taking his coat.

"Elaine, no, I should do that, you go and sit down."

"Oh, posh," she replied, "If you've forgotten, I'm still the woman of the house, by both age and ownership, so I can do as I bloody well please."

Mary and Oliver looked at her with wide eyes, Mary in shock, and Oliver with amusement.

"Mary, I thought you said she was feeling under the weather!" he said with a smile.

"Well, I am," Elaine replied, "but that doesn't mean I can't tease two young people like your selves, now does it?"

Mary sighed in resignation, "Fine, why don't you... entertain Oliver, while I go get Will."

Elaine nodded, and guided Oliver to the living room as she called over her shoulder, "He's in a 'mood' today, so I doubt he'll come!"

_Oh, no_, Mary thought as she climbed the stairs, _He's not getting away with brooding like that forever_...

Opening the door to Will's room, Mary was prepared to give Will a verbal thrashing. But that changed rather quickly as she found her self looking down at the boy, his head bent over his desk, his hair masking his eyes.

"Will..."

"I'm not going," his tone of finality was emphasized by Kijava's quite growl.

"Look Will, all I'm asking is..."

But she didn't get any further, as the full weight of the boy's presence was flung at her in a single glare. She knew that Will had stared down Iorek, that the witch queens feared to look into his eyes, but she never had the brunt of that will thrown at her... until now.

"I'm not going," he said once more.

"All right," Mary murmured, closing the door behind her.

As the door closed, a sob escaped his lips. Another followed close behind.

"Why? Why? Why, why, why?" he cried softly, to no one in particular.

But an answer was given, nonetheless, for Will was never alone.

"Because," came Kirjava's voice as he felt her soft fir against his skin.

"Because..."

And the world slowly faded as Will fell into the world of sleep.

The sky was a glorious golden, as if someone had painted it the hues of molten metal and swaying wheat. The sight took Will's breath away. He just stood there, staring at the setting sun, feeling the breeze in the grass at his feet. Through his peripheral vision, he saw that he was standing in a large field, and his eyes could just barely catch the darkening sky behind.

Something about this place calmed him... he could tell that it was a dream, but there was still some kind of power here, some kind of magic that wiped away all the anger and depression that had been building within him. Now that he looked back, he could see how foolish it was to brood as he had. Turning back to the world around him, Will's thoughts turned to the cause of his pain...

"Lyra would love to see this..." Will thought allowed.

"I do."

Her voice was clear and real, just behind him to his left. His heart swelled as he turned to face her.

In all his life, Will had never seen anything so beautiful. Lyra stood there, clothed in the green blouse and skirt which she wore all those many months ago, but she looked as if she were a queen, bathed in the light from the setting sun behind him, and the waxing gibbous moon above. Neither her mother, nor the witches could match her for beauty now.

She smiled at him, and moved slowly closer. Where, minuets before, Will would have ran into her arms, or collapsed crying, not believing it, now, he took it in stride, and wrapped his arms around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This place was _indeed_ magical.

He could feel her arms across his back, hear her steady breath upon his neck, and smell her strawberry hair, just like that night so long ago...

"It's just a dream, isn't it, Will?" Her voice was calm, accepting.

"Yes."

"But it's so real, maybe, just maybe..."

"This is the dreaming that Xaphania told us about?" he finished for her with a smile.

Stepping back so as to look into her eyes, Will answered, "Yes, I think it is."

"It's been so hard Will, with out you."

"I know, my love," Will replied, "I have never been the same... I don't think I have the strength to live without you."

Will could see a smile on Lyra's lips as she took his hand into hers and guided to down the earth.

"Maybe I can give you something else, then," she said while she caressed her belly gently.

Neither noticed the figure high above them, shining in the double light of the sun and moon, her form seeming to shift and merge with the sky and celestial bodies which were her in form and soul.

Yewande looked down at her daughter, and smiled.

"Tell him now, my love," she whispered, "for you will not see him till the Samhain harvest come and the sacrifice be made... he will need your strength, my daughter."

The meal was largely finished; three sets of plates lay on the table with only crumbs and excess gravy on their surfaces, giving evidence to the fine quality of the food. A fourth plate lay untouched next to an empty glass and neatly place set of silverware.

Elaine sat to Mary's right, her head in her hand, while Mary sat back, her attention across the table, listening to Oliver's story intriguing story.

"... So I was able to convince him to let me have a go on the wheel. And I can tell you, I thought I was pretty hot stuff, but when I was done he looked at me and said, 'what is this supposed to be, shit?'"

Laughter erupted from all at the table, the but quickly stopped when Elaine began coughing into her napkin. Worriedly, Mary moved to help her, but Elaine merely smiled placidly.

"Mary," she said with laughter still in her eyes, "I never knew your boss was such a jack of all trades!"

Mary couldn't think of anything but laughter at that point. _I think I drank just a little to much wine..._ she thought.

When she was finally able to speak, Mary replied, "Now I wouldn't say that. Oliver may have a brilliant mind, but his artistic side is a little...lacking."

At this Oliver's expression became hurt, but the blush from the wine kind of ruined any chance at sympathy that he might have been aiming for.

"What?" he said in mock shock, "Now, excuse me, Mary, but have you ever worked on a potter's wheel? No, I didn't think so. What about a paint studio? Or blacksmith shop? I think not."

At the mention of _blacksmith_, any evidence of the wine disappeared from Elaine's face as she looked intently at the man sitting to her left.

"You're a blacksmith?" she asked, leaning closer to him intently.

Oliver seemed to be a little unnerved by her intensity, and hesitantly replied, "Not per se, really, but I did spend some time studying antique weapons in Spain, and part of my thesis project was to restore a 18th century blade, so I have had some experience, yes."

"Really?" Elaine asked, cocking her head to the side, as if listening to someone whisper in her ear, "How...interesting"

Mary and Oliver just stared at her, both utterly confused, but Mary's gaze held something else, worry and just a hint of ...suspicion.

Unknown to all of them, except perhaps Elaine, a figure stood in the corner, his broad shoulders clearly displaying his strength and power, while his transparency—nearly invisibility—and the huge feathered wings that encased him clearly stated his angelic status.

"That's it, my Sweetheart," he whispered, with pride in his voice, "listen to the Eoghanhe'll guide you home."

Please Review! And again, sorry it took me so long to update.


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